gotta knock a little harder
by countertime
Summary: DISCONTINUED AU where stopping death doesn't mean you've saved them. A darker Tru Calling where Harrison isn't just an idiot and Meredith is more than a junkie. MeredithJack, LindsayHarrison, and a hint of TruDavis
1. kept my cool under lock and key

_Author's note:_ I've got dicey knowledge of this series at best so I took a couple liberties. The most prominent is that Jack doesn't have any power here.

**  
Prologue**

Mood Music: _Somewhere in between_ Lifehouse

It is not a detail many notice. Tru has recently made a habit of chasing away visitors before they can ask.

_There is only one clock in her apartment._

Davis, of course, was the first one to comment- in that noncommittal way he had of broaching any subject sensitive to her calling (he calls it her calling because he appreciates the pun on her name. Sometimes she hates that about him).

_The clock is digital and keeps the date._

She lives by herself (this sounds less grown up every time she says it) and isn't sure if reliving days is making her older. But she feels so damned tired.

When Davis asked for the time, she went to a closet and took out a pile of clocks, the batteries pulled out and time frozen.

He thanked her.

It's in this way that she can explain herself completely to him without explaining anything at all.

_**  
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Davis used to love the morgue (the dead never made demands on the living). All that was left was for him to concentrate on his breathing.

This was before.

He died that day in the car accident. Not in the metaphor he always employed to describe the loss of his wife but he, himself, had _died_. Even if that was a reality that was never realized, sometimes he thinks he can still feel it. That meant something right?

He _died_.

For a long time after, he wished he had stayed that way.

_Trapped between the wheel and the windshield, body awkward and eyes fixed on her blond little head, not wanting to outlive her by even a second. Please… Knowing that this was years ago._

He had thought this was survivor's guilt.

That was before.

He stopped having nightmares when she took the job here. He tried to leave once, but they came back.

He stayed. A penance.

And he was waiting for something. He didn't know what. But like the bodies here-

He was waiting for someone to help him.

_  
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He never talks about his father but secretly, Harrison admires him. He left a full house in the middle and started over, still managing to get a straight flush with a completely different hand.

Richard Davies is a gambler at heart and Harrison is only sorry that he has only the balls for card games and dog tracks. He pours his money into this hoping that he has some sort of inherited grace.

Harrison knows all of the gods of luck.

He doesn't pray to any of them.

But where his father can roll a three and still come out with a new wife, Harrison has trouble keeping track of the variables and ahead of the fallout.

He doesn't let himself win. Even when he begs Tru for lotto numbers he doesn't really want them. Winning lies in how well you can manipulate and he isn't like his father.

_He is not his father. _

He hasn't known family since his mother died and it is so much easier to just give up and let Tru keep his head above water. To test her to her limit and know that yes, here is one person who will love him no matter what.

He lets her pretend that she is keeping all of them together. Goes along with it because he knows that Meredith isn't quite what she appears to be and that their parents used to fight about things that are only now making sense because naive thoughtless Tru was dumb enough to tell him her calling.

And now everything was coming together.

_Everything was falling apart._

_**  
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Meredith, despite her misgivings, was her father's daughter. Her mother may have shown her her first Jane Austen, dressed her in pinafore and gaiety but it was her father that gave her her pride, her Victorian sensibilities.

_Her damn sense of duty._

Tru and Harrison were entirely her mother's doing. And although Harrison had no real power (a lacking on the Y chromosome that kept him from inheriting the nausea of too much living) his absolute devotion to Tru kept him out of her counsel. Tru also had the fortune of working near the dead.

Meredith had no such luck.

She toed the corpse, not looking up as she pocketed the coke (her job hazard, her spoils of war).

_On the east side of town, it was easy to find death._

On the east side of town, it was easy to ignore the pleading of another hooker (brief animation bringing life to a lipstick smeared face that hides a face too young or too old. She knows her face to have the same look).

_On the other side, it was easy to loose yourself._

Meredith clutched at the pocket of her coat as the day rewound.

Again.

_**  
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	2. fear of love or bitter vanity

Mood Music: _Blue Eyes_ Cary Brothers

Jack sucked in his gut as he heard the door open, quickly taking interest in, well the floor. Not smooth. Damnit.

"Real subtle Jack," Tru rounded the corner into Davis's office, never looking up from her report as she called back, "Don't we pay you to work?"

So. Not a rewind day.

And Tru still hadn't warmed up to his presence…

He was in his prime damnit! What was it going to take?

_**  
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Tru stopped short in the middle of the room, "Davis do you ever go home? Cause honestly, this office is lookin a little too lived in."

She almost laughed as Davis flustered at her remark and made movements to clean off some day old Chinese. Tru swiped the carton from him and dug in.

"Uh, morning Tru. If it's not a rewind day maybe you should finish processing yesterday's bodies."

…He just wanted her away to regroup.

"Aww Davis! I thought this was why we hired Jack! Can't we just chill for two minutes? Please? I've worked six days this week, I'm not even kidding. And now you've got me here weekends- and so not happy about that one Davis- so just pleaaase? No workie?"

He fixed his tie, clear indication of some sort of offense, "Tru, we did not hire Jack. And I did not hire Jack to cover for you."

Oh, he was so crumbling- but still, avoiding the point entirely. And _lying_! Why else would she suffer Jack's presence? And his morgue appropriate philosophy? Cause she didn't actually have to be here when he was that's why!

"That's right, I'm not your scapegoat," Jack added unexpectedly from behind her, leaning on the doorframe.

She almost jumped. Jackass. Instead, she spun on her heel to glare at him, then finished the movement by spinning back to glare at Davis. He just offered a shy smile to his desk which was kinda a cute blushing bride thing to do… Hold up. He was laughing at her!

_And_ she was still suffering Jack's presence! Damnit!

_**  
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For the life oh him he couldn't understand the general attraction of his sister's best friend. Lindsey was a first class _brat_.

Dolled up to the nines, acting like she was owed his affection and oh so full of herself that she couldn't see past her perfect life and really see _him_.

Hell. So they made out once. And it was nice. But god, like he couldn't find that anywhere else?

He gulped down another mouthful of coffee and waited for Tru to show up. It was her fault he was left alone with his thoughts for so long- he better be getting some lotto numbers for his trouble. Their weekly meetings had become more of a daily ritual and no small part of him was unhappy at it.

He could hit her up for money on a regular basis and still make it to the tracks. What wasn't there to love about this arrangement?

"Harry! Sorry," Tru glanced at her watch as she sat down, "…that you're so early. Hey I'm on time!" She looked up at him expectantly.

"Nothings up. I just needed a place to think and not loose track of time. I know how much you miss me when I'm not here." He motioned for the waitress, making a kissie face at his sister.

"Uh huh." She seemed to mull something over before spitting out, "I yelled at Lindsey for hooking up with you, ie my brother. I'll take a chicken sandwich." Tru turned addressing the waitress.

"What!"

"She wants a chicken sandwich," The waitress snapped her gum.

"Not you! I don't even know you!" Harrison turned to his sister, "Tru how have you ruined my life?"

"Hey, I'm yelling at you too! Don't hook up with my friend!"

"Tru, I can't believe you. Oh, wait. I can! _You_ just love to meddle!" Harrison's voice rose steadily.

"Don't bring that up! Are you bringing _that_ up? Cause don't." Tru eyed him and continued, "Look you've never even _liked_ Lindsey. And you are so not her type!"

Harrison went cold, "Oh. Right, I get it. She's just _slumming_. Is that it?"

Tru felt slapped. God, she hadn't meant-

"Harry, no, that's not what I-"

"It's okay Tru." Harrison was already out of his seat, "You always know best right?"

She let him go. She couldn't think of anything to say that would stop him.

_  
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Meredith wanted a hit. Badly.

She counted the seconds.

Oh, do seconds count?

When the buzzer finally rang she was nearly out of her skin.

"Not a rewind day." The voice informed over the intercom.

Oh, for the love of God. That utter moron. She _knew_ that.

"Am I on your way home? Don't bother me with trivia." She let him in anyway. Met him at the door.

"I wanted to see you." He pressed a kiss at her temple, swiping his hand through her hair and leading her away from the door.

He didn't pause to really look at her. When Tru relived days, she burst with energy, needing to get things done, to be somewhere else _now_.

When Meredith went back, she just looked worn.

And she looked so tired now.

But still so astute, "You can't keep flirting with life and sleeping with death."

"I made a promise."

"My father didn't save you to bed his daughter."

He smiled, clearly this was a just a bonus. "No, he saved me to help you."

He assisted her with his zipper. Roughly tossed her to the couch.

He didn't care much if he lived or died after the first time, when he came back remembering that he _had_ died.

His kisses bruised and his hands fisted.

And Jack did not go gently.

_  
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_  
Author's note_: Um yah. I have no idea where to go with this.


	3. happiness is just a word to me

Mood Music: _Longer _Caleb Kane

Davis felt suffocated. He dropped the x-ray sheets heavily onto his desk. It was a feeling unique to the morgue, a feeling of a nursing home next to a cemetery, of being juxtaposed next to a consequence that hadn't been properly thought through yet.

Of course, given his situation, one would think that mister-ivy-league-med school would be intelligent enough to discern that there would be _consequence_ from coming back from the dead- coming back _twice_. Not just the ability to vaguely remember but some sort of physical manifestation. It may no longer be true, but at some point the possibility had existed and he had died. Preventing the events from occurring had apparently not completely erased the possibility of their existence. What Tru was doing was essentially rearranging biology through some complicated quantum irregularity that she was somehow able to harness-

Oh, there it is. He must be feeling better if he was able to spit out a dictionary.

**_ticktockticktockticktockticktock_**

He tore up the ticket mechanically and admitted that there had been really no point in betting on this race at all. The dogs had been racing all week and everyone knew that they were at their most predictable earlier in the day. Not now. Just a bunch of ugly looking rats right now.

Harrison loves gambling. Putting something he values on the line and working with instinct and he knows this is living. He knows this but he cannot feel it as true.

Before Tru started working- her real work and not that dead end job with that creeped out Davis guy- he knew nothing else mattered. Gambling put him far away from his family, gave him the safety of being the black sheep. Gambling made him feel alive.

He doesn't feel that anymore.

Was dying his wake up call?

He feels like some born-again saying that. He's not sure why he's thinking such crap. Tru most likely. Her martyred little heart bleeding all over him.

Dad's voice, he recognizes belatedly.

Harrison leans back onto the bleachers, considering himself. He is floundering and a part of him realizes that this is not apart of the lost son routine.

He coughs slightly, covering up the pure animal sound of grief that is building in the back of his throat.

Jesus. He needs to get out of here.

**_ticktockticktockticktockticktock_**

Lindsay wants people to know her and has discovered that most people need quite the bit of help.

So she makes it as easy as possible.

Of course there are sides to her that aren't so easy to explain, but she has Tru for that.

Had. She had Tru.

She had expected some distance, now that they were graduated. But that was why she had taken this job so close to her friend (no, her _sister_). Tru wasn't the only one with non-existent family.

Unless you count Harrison, which, she didn't.

They were always close but now it was like they were in on this big secret, this huge laugh out loud joke that they thought her too self involved to spot.

And that was what was really infuriating. That Tru didn't even think she _noticed_.

Tru was supposed to _know_ her.

_Was she not supposed to feel hurt about this! _

This is not why she kissed Harrison.

Sure, there was anger. And she had wanted to hurt her (there are rules about approaching another's sibling) but it wasn't a back way into the 'secret'. She knew it would just toss a little more distance between them and she hadn't cared.

But Harrison was being strangely noble (she was drunk) and Harrison wasn't just looking at her like meat (she felt pretty).

She wasn't (is) attention starved.

And she doesn't let herself think about why when she opens the door and lets Harrison in.

**_ticktockticktockticktockticktock_**

She feels dirty. With a twinge she realizes that she'll never be clean but she pushes the covers off to take a shower anyway.

Meredith hates the morning after.

Jack is still splayed across the bed. She is not wanton enough to dress in front of him, unconscious or-

Not. His eyes are open and they are crinkled with sleep. Her mind doesn't wax poetically about him. He is just another bastard that shouldn't have been saved.

"Morning, beautiful," he slurs the words and doesn't really look at her. Sometimes, she wonders if he doesn't see her sister instead.

"Jack. Get out." She grabs her clothes and heads to the bathroom, but Jack is already out of bed and following her.

"Aww is someone feeling a little strung out today? Let Jack give you some lovin'." His hands are creeping around the towel and she is a junkie.

When she takes her against the wall, she lets him.

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_Author note: woohoo! Another chapter! Still no plot, but I'm faking it pretty good aren't I?_


	4. the burning ghost without a name

Mood Music: Umbrella

Tru doesn't scream when she wakes. She lets the feeling choke in her throat and release slowly in a thin slip of air. She isn't scared of the dark, only terrified that morning will never come.

_Sometimes it comes twice. _

She remembers the wake. How cold and stiff her mother was and how the weight of her death did not bow her father's shoulders as he held her in their silent grief.

At least she thinks it was grief.

_There are snippets of memory. And this uncertainty in her gut. She can still hear the shot and her mother thudding to the floor…_

She wants to ask her father but she doesn't know what the question is.

She had cried when they lowered her into the ground. Her hand in Meredith's- who looked pinched and paler than their mother had at the wake. Who never lost that pinched paleness as life sped on in Technicolor-

_Who kept looking at Tru like she was worth blaming. _

Her father had found her in the closet. She was terrified and she was crying and she remembers burying her head into the crook of his neck and pressing into him as they pass the body- _oh please don't let her near me-_

But that can't be right because she loved her mother and the blood they found on her was from her throwing herself at her as the life bleed away…

_She was seven and her mother had hushed her and told her it was ok but it wasn't and there was so much blood and a whispered…_

But she can't trust herself to remember.

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Author note: That's it folks. The last scene of a plotless fic. Thanks for reading!


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